


What It Means To Care

by starscrearn



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscrearn/pseuds/starscrearn
Summary: When Cyclonus is trapped on Cybertron after the fight against Unicron, Ultra Magnus discovers he has more in common with his fellow warrior than he first thought.





	What It Means To Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MooseKababs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseKababs/gifts).



> so this is entirely moose's fault for introducing me to the potential that is magclonus. (seriously, if you haven't already read their fic [In the Face of Adversity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898724/chapters/31983924), please do yourself a favor and go do that, it's _excellent)_

When Cyclonus eventually awoke, it was to find the Autobot Ultra Magnus watching from the door as a red and white medic leaned over his side, with his fingers in his internals. The jet let out a muted roar and attempted to shove the medic away. The medic yelped and stumbled back as the jet struggled against the restraints that pinned his wrists.

“Where am I? Release me at once!”

Magnus stepped forward. “You are on Cybertron, in a makeshift Autobot medical facility. First Aid was in the middle of repairing you when you tried to attack him.”

“I have no need of your help, Autobot,” Cyclonus spat. His plating began to creak as he tensed against the restraints. “If I am not your prisoner, then release me!”

“Primus below, he’s going to blow those welds if he keeps this up,” First Aid muttered, as he ducked back in.

He glared. “Your pity makes you weak. Get off me!” 

With a surge of effort, the jet broke through one of the restraints and yanked his hand free. Something along his side groaned alarmingly and the medic nearly threw himself on top of him to keep him still. Cyclonus flung his hand out and snatched up the first thing his fingers closed on, a heavy wrench. Before he could bring it down, Ultra Magnus pushed himself off the door and surged forward, darting around Aid with surprising grace to seize Cyclonus’s wrist. He pressed his fingers into the cables and squeezed; the wrench fell from fingers gone suddenly lax.

“Hold  _ still!” _ the commander barked. 

Cyclonus merely grunted in response and forced himself up, finally splitting the welds in his side. His horns collided with Ultra Magnus’s chest and while they were too blunt to do any real damage, it still made his vents stall. The big mech shoved the jet’s wrist down onto the berth above his helm and laid his other arm over the mech’s chest to keep him in place.

“Aid!”

“Got it!” First Aid darted back towards them, clutching a dose of something, but as soon as he came within range, Cyclonus struck. His heavy pede caught the medic across the chest, sending him staggering away.

“I knew we should have completely restrained you,” Magnus muttered.

He gave the jet a little warning push before rushing to First Aid’s side and scooping up the syringe. Before Cyclonus could haul himself back up, Magnus was back and jabbed the thing into the first available line he found.

The horned mech sank back with a low groan, shaking his helm. “What… have you done to me?”

“It’s a tranquilizer.” Magnus stepped away to help First Aid to his feet and turned to consider Cyclonus once the medic was safely upright.

As the dose took hold, he stopped struggling, save for the twitching of his fingertips. “You will… pay…” His helm lolled to the side and his optics flickered offline.

“Finally…” He sighed. “You alright, First Aid?”

The medic looked up from his scan. “A little dented, but my autorepair can handle it. What are we going to do with him?”

“Well, we can’t leave him leaking all over the place. I understand if you don’t want to repair him after this, but--”   


First Aid waved it aside. “It comes with the territory. At least he wasn’t armed. Once you get him restrained again, I’ll get back to work.”

Magnus bent over the berth to inspect the cuffs, one of which was permanently sprung open from the way Cyclonus had broken it. “Can you hook him into something to keep him offline instead? This will need to be completely replaced.”

“I can, but with a frame as new as his, I’m not entirely sure how he’ll react, so I’d prefer to keep him at a lower dose. If you want to fix it, you’ll need to hurry.”

“It won’t take long.”

By the time Ultra Magnus returned with a new set of serviceable restraints, First Aid had the injuries to Cyclonus’s side mostly welded shut again.

“Took you long enough! He’s almost out of it.”

The commander clicked the new cuffs into place and fastened them around the jet’s wrists and ankles. “Sorry, Rodimus requested my assistance. It took longer than I thought it would. Can you still work if he’s online?”

“Honestly, it would be easier on his systems. Once the tranquilizer wears off, I’ll install a pain block, and--”

Cyclonus cut him off, startling both the medic and Magnus. “I need no pain block.” His voice was rough and heavy and his words were almost slurred as he fought to speak through the drug clouding his processor. 

First Aid recovered first. “Are you sure? I’ve still got to finish this weld and lay in a handful of patches, and it’s starting to look like I’ll need to rewire some of these--”

Again the jet interrupted. “You will not use a pain block on me, Autobot.”

Magnus sighed. “Give it up, First Aid. If he wants to be foolish, let him.”

“Alright…” He ducked his helm and went back to welding as the last of the tranquilizer wore off. Cyclonus stiffened under his touch. “But don’t hesitate to tell me if it gets to be too much. I can always add a block later.”

He gritted his denta, hands curling into fists at his sides. “It will not be necessary.”

Ultra Magnus resumed his post by the door and folded his arms. “What is it about Decepticons and always needing to prove a point?”

Cyclonus remained silent, but the commander could see his jaw working. A low groan slipped out and First Aid sharply pulled back. 

“Are you sure--”

“Yes,” the jet ground out.

“Alright, alright.” First Aid glanced over his shoulder back to Magnus. “You can go, you know. You don’t have to stand there.”

“Rodimus asked me to keep an eye on him.”

Cyclonus jerked his helm around and fixed the commander with a baleful glare. “So, I--” His optics flickered out as he bit back another pained noise. “I  _ am _ your prisoner.”

“It’s as much for your protection as ours,” Ultra Magnus replied calmly.

The jet lurched up. “I could easily take any one of you--!”

First Aid laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not going to be taking anyone like that. Hold still.”

He resisted. Ultra Magnus stepped forward with a warning look and the horned mech reluctantly let the medic push him back down. 

“So, Autobot. Do you plan to release me?”

“That’s not my decision,” he replied shortly.

“Does Rodimus Prime not trust his  _ loyal _ second in command enough to tell him?”

“The topic hasn’t been discussed.” 

Cyclonus smirked. “Does that strike a nerve?”

“No.” Magnus eyed him. “You asked, I answered. Rodimus and I have not discussed your release. We’ve been busy in the aftermath of the fight with Unicron.”

He fell silent for a moment. Then: “Why save me?”

The big mech shrugged. “You were already here. At the time, it wasn’t feasible to send you back.”

“And now you aim to hold me hostage, use me as a pawn to trade for something from Galvatron.”

“That’s not my decision either. Would you rather we’d executed you on the spot?”

“Yes!” Cyclonus spat.

Magnus snorted. “There are plenty of bots here who would be happy to make that happen.”

“Then turn me over to them and be done with it!”

“That isn’t the Autobot way.”

The jet glared. “Then what is?”

“Compassion.”

Cyclonus scoffed. “It seems I misjudged you. You’re just as foolish as the rest of them. Compassion will get you nowhere.”

“So you think. There are times when it is better to spare an enemy instead of killing him.”

“Is now one of those times?”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “I don’t know yet.”

=========

Cyclonus spent the next week cuffed to the medberth. He was remarkably peaceful, seeming resigned to his fate. When First Aid cleared him for release (or perhaps simply grew tired of having the jet in his medibay, Magnus wasn’t sure), he accepted the news without complaint. Without much of any reaction at all, really.

He looked up when the big mech entered the room, expression unreadable. “Finally come to take me to my cell, have you?”

“Something like that. Are we going to have any problems?”

“No.”

Magnus began to undo the restraints, glancing up at Cyclonus every so often to check that the mech was going to keep his word, such as it was. He stepped back to give him room to rise. “Hands in front of you, please.”

The jet presented his wrists and watched impassively as the commander clamped a set of cuff around them. “You Autobots have an odd way of dealing with your prisoners.”

“Oh, so the Decepticons don’t cuff them?” he replied.

It fell a little flat; Cyclonus merely eyed him in a way that had him feeling like a newspark caught sneaking out of his quarters past curfew. “We both know that is not what I meant.”

He reset his vocalizer. “Are you protesting your treatment?”

“No. I merely find it strange.” His optics narrowed. “Strange… and weak.”

The commander took him by the elbow and began to lead him out of the room. “What you call weakness, others call basic decency."

“If an army retreats to regroup, they have still retreated,” he replied. “Calling something by a different name does not change its true nature.”

“How philosophic of you.”

Cyclonus ignored him. “Where am I to be held?”

“We have a detainment center set up.”

Cyclonus laughed, short and ugly. “Ah, the peace-loving Autobots begin to show their true nature!”

Magnus shook his head. “We fought Unicron. But he wasn’t the end of it, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

The jet smirked. “And I believe you begin to show your true nature as well. You are not so much like them as you like to pretend. You and I are far more similar.”

“I am a soldier,” he replied shortly. “That’s my job.”

“Of course it is. Take me to my cell…” The smirk grew until it bordered on a grin, nasty and self-satisfied. “Soldier.”

He sighed and led on.

=========

Despite himself, Ultra Magnus found himself developing an odd sense of kinship with the Decepticon jet. They both seemed strangely placeless in what should have been a post-war universe that was anything but. While he couldn’t control the way he seemed to be feeling, he could certainly remind himself that it wasn’t returned; to Cyclonus he was merely a jailor, nothing more. He supplied energon and the occasional word of news, and that was it. It wasn’t his job to do anything more.

They swiftly fell into a routine. And then one day, Magnus changed it.

Cyclonus was perched on the edge of the narrow berth with his helm down when the big mech approached. His elbows were propped on his thighs and his hands were loosely clasped together where they hung between his knees. It almost looked as though he were praying. His shoulders were slightly slumped, and while at first glance he seemed peaceful, it became obvious upon closer inspection that he was forcing himself up with his forearms; his shoulder pauldrons were only slanted down because he was pushing his back up. The longer Magnus looked, the more he realized that nothing about the warrior looked at ease-- every line was tight with tension. 

After another long moment, he reset his vocalizer with a quiet cough. Cyclonus jerked back, grasping at guns that weren’t there. When he realized it was Magnus, he almost seemed to relax, or at least, he didn’t continue searching for a weapon.

“What do you want, Autobot?” His voice was low, and not as smooth as it usually was.

He gestured with the tarp he had draped over his arm. “You look like you could use a repaint.”

“For what purpose? You seem to think I have someone here to impress.”

The commander sighed and keyed in the access code. “It’s  _ paint, _ Cyclonus. It’s part of routine maintenance.”

“A true warrior has no need for aesthetics,” he replied. Even so, he lifted his feet and let Magnus spread the tarp under them. The big mech knelt and deposited his armload of bottles and cans.

After a long moment of silence as Ultra Magnus sorted himself out, Cyclonus spoke. “Is all this really necessary?”

He glanced up from where he was preparing the first round of paint stripper to remove the jet’s flaking topcoat. “It isn’t mandatory, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then why do it?”

Another sigh. “Call it a peace offering. Your situation is no doubt uncomfortable--”

He interrupted him with an inelegant snorting noise.

Magnus continued unphased. “But it doesn’t necessarily have to remain that way.”

Cyclonus’s optics narrowed. “You sound as though you’re going to offer me an Autobrand next.”

He dipped a rag into the paint stripper and motioned for the jet’s foot. After a moment’s hesitation, he gave it. He set to work rubbing at the damaged paint before he spoke again. “I don’t suppose you’d considered taking it.”

The horned mech let out a loud, ugly “Ha!” and shook his helm. “Don’t be so naive, Ultra Magnus.”

The big mech gave him a small, weary shrug and slipped his hand up behind his knee, gently tilting his shin forward. “I don’t think we’ll need the paint stipper for much beyond your legs and arms, and maybe your back.”

“Do you think you can buy me with this, Autobot?”

Magnus tossed down the cloth and looked up at Cyclonus in irritation. “I’m not looking to buy anything. It’s a repaint. No more, no less.”

“Then why do you feel the need to convince yourself?”

“It’s not me I’m trying to convince, it’s you!” He shook himself in irritation, plating softly clicking together, and scooped up the wet rag. His next few stroke over the jet’s shin were a little less gentle, betraying his ire, but when Cyclonus shifted, he immediately eased up.

Ultra Magnus worked in silence for a time, shuffling around on his knees at the jet’s feet. When he finished up with his legs, the big mech made to rise, but before he could, Cyclonus slid onto the floor next to him, neatly folding his legs under himself. 

He eyed Magnus, almost daring him to make a comment. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your  _ precious _ berth with paint stripper, would we?”

The commander bit his tongue before he could say something he’d regret, something that might drive Cyclonus back into his shell of solitude, or worse, back up onto the berth. It was easier to maneuver two large frames on the floor. The jet presented an arm and Magnus took it, gently gripping his elbow. 

It felt as though the purple mech was trying to keep the silence between them stony, keeping the Autobot at a metaphorical arm’s distance, but when he shifted to offer his other arm, Magnus caught a hint of softened face plates. It was gone in an instant, but it startled him into nearly dropping the cloth.

“Did you just smile?” he blurted out.

Cyclonus shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, jaw working. The tubes in his throat flexed just before he answered. “No.”

Immediately Ultra Magnus fell silent, worried he’d overstepped, and went back to work with the paint stripper. After a long moment, by far the most uncomfortable one they’d had since he’d entered the little cell, the jet glanced back at him.

“And if I had?”

Magnus shrugged, feigning a nonchalance the horned mech had stripped away from him long ago. “Doesn’t matter.”

Cyclonus gave him a quiet snort and muttered something that sounded like “Autobots” before he cast his gaze back to the opposite wall.

It gave the commander the perfect opportunity to take in the mech’s profile, something he was determined not to do. He was not going to stare at his enemy, he was not going to marvel at the quiet nobility he displayed, and he most certainly wasn’t going to slow the scrubbing of the cloth to all but the barest touch as he found himself transfixed by that profile. 

The jet glanced up at him, somehow managing to look condescending despite having to tip his helm back several degrees to meet his optics. “What is it, Autobot?”

Ultra Magnus shook himself and ducked his head, hastily rubbing away the last of the flaking paint on his upper arm. “Your arm is done.”

He lifted his elbow out of the big mech’s grasp. “So it would appear.” 

“Your back is, uh--” He reset his vocalizer in an attempt to rid himself of the waver that had crept into his voice. “Your backplates appear to be in good condition. I’ll apply the primer to what’s been stripped and start on everything else while it sets. This would be easier on the--” He paused to steel himself. “On the berth.”

The jet’s optics narrowed, considering. Scrutinizing. Magnus forced himself to keep his expression neutral and after a long moment, Cyclonus nodded his assent and rose. The big mech knelt once again at his pedes.

The primer went on easily enough, though twice the commander had to override a slight tremor in his hands as he felt Cyclonus’s gaze on him. Still on his knees, Ultra Magnus reached for the cans of paint he’d brought with him. 

The jet watched him intently as he began to mix, occasionally holding up the stir stick to compare it against Cyclonus’s remaining paint. “Do not attempt to make me look like one of you, Autobot.”

He dropped the stick back into the can and wiped the side of his thumb on the tarp, trying to rid himself of tiny droplets of paint he’d splattered across himself. “I’m not. I’m trying to match to your base coat, which--” He paused to add another drop of white paint and give it a thorough stir. “If you’d like to do yourself, I’ll be happy to hand this over to you.”

Cyclonus fell silent and after another short while of mixing, Magnus dumped the paint into the applicator, satisfied he’d achieved the appropriate shade. It was when he started to rise that the jet protested. 

“I haven’t seen it.”

Magnus sighed and adjusted the nozzle of the applicator. He squeezed, painting a narrow strip over the corner of the tarp. “Happy?”

“It’s close enough.”

He tipped his head. “And here I thought ‘true’ warriors didn’t care about aesthetics.”

“If a job is to be done, it should be done well,” Cyclonus shot back.

The commander rose. “I’ll start with your back.”

The jet glared. Magnus waited. Eventually he turned, almost reluctantly, and slid forward until the big mech had enough room to perch behind him on the berth. He caught a glimmer of light when he glanced up, and realized Cyclonus was watching him over his shoulder, head craned at what was probably an uncomfortable angle so he could properly see. 

“Are you going to watch me the whole time?”

“I do not trust you.”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “It’s paint, not a weapon.”

He shifted; no longer was he trying to make direct eye contact, but he still seemed to be watching out of the corner of his eye.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, shifting his grip on the applicator. It felt far too delicate in his hand, but it had been all he could find that wasn’t one of the massive industrial ones that had never really been intended for personal use. He adjusted the nozzle one last time, laid a hand against Cyclonus’s shoulder to steady him without thinking, and switched the thing on.

The jet flinched when the paint hit his back. “You startled me,” he muttered before Magnus could seek an explanation. “Think nothing of it.”

“Sorry, should have warned you it’d be cold.”

“The cold does not bother me,” he shot back.

“It’s alright, you know--”

“I said…” Cyclonus wrenched himself around and grabbed for Magnus’s wrist. “It does not bother me! Do not be soft with  _ me, _ Autobot.”

The big mech’s optics flickered in surprise and he hastily clicked off the applicator before any more paint could end up on the wall. The jet was nearly in his lap; one hand braced him up just beside Magnus’s knee and the other was still clamped around his wrist, holding the airbrush away from both of them. His plating was forced out and quivering slightly, just enough that he could hear a quiet click every now and then. Even sprawled out like he was, he had a kind of grace to him, a dangerous beauty. Cyclonus glared at him and it felt like the jet was trying to rip through him with those piercing red optics. 

Magnus caught himself and pulled back, tugging his wrist out of his grip. He had to reset his vocalizer before he could speak. “I… I wasn’t.”

Slowly Cyclonus pushed himself up, plating settling once more. The whole time he kept his optics on the commander’s. And then, surprisingly, he turned his back. The paint had streaked when he’d whipped around, but it could be easily fixed. He said nothing, merely arching his back so his plates slid flat against each other.

“Should I… continue?” Ultra Magnus asked.

He caught a slight glint from the shadows cast by Cyclonus’s lowered helm; the jet was looking at him again.

“Yes.”

This time he made no remark about the temperature of the paint, and Cyclonus did not flinch. Whatever had just occurred between them seemed to have relaxed him and Magnus found himself surprisingly happy for it. 

They finished the repaint in silence.

=========

Shortly after Ultra Magnus left, he received a comm from Rodimus.

_ <Would you mind coming up here? I want to talk to you about Cyclonus.> _

A wash of apprehension swept over him. Rodimus had only infrequently brought up the Decepticon in their previous conversations, and usually only as a side note, to inquire about his cell arrangements or energon rations. Magnus sent back a swift assent and hurried off, forgetting about the stained tarp over his arm and the paint splotches on his fingertips. He soon arrived in front of what the young Prime had designated as his office. After a moment’s hesitation, he discarded the tarp and the cans of paint beside the door in a haphazard pile and palmed the door open.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yeah, I--” Rodimus paused as he caught sight of the mess in the hall. “Been doing a little interior decorating, Magnus?”

He shifted his hands slightly behind his thighs and hoped the Prime wouldn’t make anything of the color of the paint on him.

No such luck. Rodimus leaned forward and tipped his helm and after a short moment, glanced back up at Magnus’s face, looking almost disappointed. “Purple, huh? So you were with him.”

“Regular repaints are part of standard maintenance practice,” he replied stiffly.

“Yeah, but they’re not your job. You could have told First Aid-- hell, you could have told Cyclonus to do it himself. You seem to be forgetting that he’s a Decepticon. A Decepticon who tried to kill you for the Matrix, and almost succeeded. I know you haven’t forgotten that.”

“I haven’t. But-- if I might speculate a moment, sir?”

Rodimus waved a hand. “Go right ahead, I can’t stop you.”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “He seems different now. Less… driven.”

“You think he’s given up?”

“No, not exactly. But I don’t think he’d try to kill me again, at least.”

“Magnus, it--” Rodimus heaved a sigh. It sounded like he was bracing himself. “To be honest, I think your judgment might be clouded. You’re spending an awful lot of time around him, more than your job really needs.” Another sigh. “You’re a good mech, and a loyal one. That’s not being called into question. But it seems like you’re headed for a mistake.”

“A mistake?” he echoed.

The Prime nodded. “You, I trust. It’s him I don’t.”

“I do,” Ultra Magnus replied. He was surprised to find it was true. He  _ did _ trust Cyclonus, in a way. Not enough to let him walk freely, but… even so, there was something there.

“You what?”

“I trust him,” he repeated, with slightly more conviction. “I’m not sure why, but I do.”

Rodimus slowly shook his head. “I’m starting to think Kup was right. Look, maybe you just need a break. Some time away from the job. Clear your head, that sort of thing.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir. I can still do my job. Cyclonus has given us no problems--”

“He attacked First Aid. He tried to kill you. He’s done nothing but give us problems since he was created-- by Unicron. You know, the Chaos Bringer? Destroyer of Worlds? Giving people problems is-- it’s in his nature. You can’t change that by being  _ nice _ to him, Magnus. It’s just who he is.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’m wrong!” Rodimus scrubbed a hand over his face. “And it still wouldn’t matter. It’s not our job to change them. Not my job, and not yours either.” He sighed. “I’m not gonna remove you from duty, don’t worry. Just… just remember what you’re supposed to be doing, okay? You’re not there to be his friend. You’re there to make sure he doesn’t kill us.”

“I know that, sir.”

“And…” He gestured uselessly. “If you really want to keep on with this-- whatever it is, I can’t stop you. Just be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt, and I don’t want to have to ask you to step down, either. You’re good at what you do. So keep doing  _ that.” _

“I will. Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s it. You can go. Oh, but-- Magnus.”

When the big mech glanced back, Rodimus was grinning lopsidedly at him, and for a moment he looked a lot more like his former self and less like the overburdened mech he’d become. “You might want to get rid of those paint transfers. Looks a little. Well.” The grin grew. “You can probably figure it out.”

He made a slight bow, face burning. “I’ll-- be sure to do that. As soon as possible.” He turned stiffly and headed out as Rodimus snickered behind him. He almost forgot the tarp.

=========

As time passed, Rodimus’s stance on their Decepticon prisoner softened. Kup was among those who remained considerably more concerned, and Arcee and Springer stood with him. Eventually it seemed as though the young Prime grew tired of his companions’ warnings-- or perhaps he just wanted to prove a point-- and nearly ordered Magnus to let Cyclonus out. 

“You heard me,” he’d said, when the commander had sought clarification. “Take him for a walk or something. Let him out for a bit. Let’s see what happens.” 

So Magnus had. Which explained why he was now leading Cyclonus, his wrists still cuffed together, by the elbow out of the jailhouse they’d stashed him in. The jet blinked in the relative brightness, trying to shield his optics from the light without appearing to do so. Magnus turned him and steered him around the side of the building, angling himself so that his shadow fell across mech at his side.

Cyclonus glanced up at him, optics widening slightly now that he could see again. “I suppose I should be thanking you for this.”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm. “Thank Rodimus Prime. I’m just following orders.”

The jet risked a look behind him. “Unpopular ones, it would seem. Or is your entire garrison in the habit of taking coordinated walks?”

“Our chief of security disagreed with the decision.”

He snorted. “I wonder why.”

“You’ve given him reason not to trust you,” he pointed out.

“Unlike some, it would seem.” Cyclonus shot him a look from the corner of his optic.

He couldn’t see it, but he could still feel the jet watching him. He coughed quietly and changed the subject. “Alright, we take a lap and you go back inside. Don’t fly away.”

They rounded the second corner in time to see a dark smudge racing towards them over the ground.

“What in the--” He glanced skyward.

Cyclonus figured it out before he did.  _ “Decepticons!” _

The frantic shout brough half the garrison down around them. Magnus shoved the jet behind him.

“Stay behind me.”

“I have no need of your pitiful protection, Autobot! They will do no damage to me. You, on the other hand…”

Before he could reply, Galvatron was shooting at him, swearing death to the Autobots. Magnus turned and grabbed Cyclonus’s arm, giving him a push away from the fighting that would soon claim the area. “Get to cover!”

The jet pushed back. “You--”

_ “Cyclonus!”  _ Galvatron roared.

The commander felt him flinch at the fury in the warlord’s voice, but he stepped forward and raised his cuffed hands, reaching out towards him. “My lord, I was--”

He cut him off.  _ “Traitor!” _

“What?” For the first time, Magnus heard genuine fear in his voice. “No, I--”

The blast that ripped from Galvatron’s cannon shook the ground under them, sending Cyclonus stumbling back against the commander with his hands up, trying to protect his face.

“Decepticons! Destroy him!”

The first shot clipped him, short circuiting the cuffs that bound his wrists. They fell to the ground, useless, as Ultra Magnus heaved an arm around the jet’s waist and pulled him away, back to safety. Behind them, Galvatron had still not stopped screaming for Cyclonus’s termination, swearing a variety of inventive tortures upon him should he ever try to return to the Decepticons.

The horned mech clawed at Ultra Magnus’s arm, trying to free himself and spitting out a few curses of his own, though his were aimed primarily at the commander. He dug his fingers into the wires of his wrist and yanked hard, forcing the big mech to release him. He went staggering back towards the fight, only to be blown backwards by an errant shot.

“Magnus, get him out of here!” Rodimus yelled. “Get him inside!”

“I’m trying!”

He had to fight his way towards Cyclonus, shoving Autobot and Decepticon alike out of his way in his attempt to reach the jet before the jet reached Galvatron. Part of him knew it would be easier to let him go and let the Decepticons sort out their own.

The overwhelming majority knew it would mean Cyclonus’s death if he did.

Finally his fingertips brushed familiar purple plating and grabbed on, just as Galvatron’s cannon powered back up. He pulled Cyclonus away, almost throwing him to the ground. “Get down!”

The shot sailed over their heads. Magnus hauled him back to his feet and desperately pushed him away from Galvatron.

“So much for your loyalty, Cyclonus!” the warlord howled behind them.

The commander watched a look of pain flit over the jet’s face. He began to resist a little less. 

It felt like the fighting lasted for hours before they finally drove the Decepticons into retreat. As they began to carry their wounded inside and take stock of the damage, Cyclonus rounded on Ultra Magnus.

“I told you I did not need your protection,  _ Autobot,” _ he spat. “I am not some  _ pathetic _ sparkling to be coddled and cared for!”

“I know that,” the commander protested. “You don’t understand, I ca--”

The jet cut him off. “I understand perfectly. Was this your plan all along? To cut me off from all options other than remaining here?”

“No--”

“Then you’ve failed.” He turned and began to stalk away. “I can still return to--”

Magnus caught him by the shoulder and spun him around, gripping him firmly. “Unthinking loyalty is not the warrior's way!”

Cyclonus batted his hand away. “How dare you question the quality of my loyalty, Autobot!”

“He has done nothing to earn it.” His voice took on a pleading edge. “Why are you so desperate to return to a master who cares nothing for you? He’s put a bounty on you!”

“Unicron created us together. We are connected in a way you would never be able to comprehend.”

“You’re connected only through your forging! It doesn’t have to mean anything!”

The jet shook him off. “I was  _ forged,” _ he started, spitting out the word like a foul bit of energon, “to serve him. My  _ purpose _ is to stand at his side. And you  _ will _ let me go!”

Magnus fell back a step. Whatever the horned mech saw in his face made him falter. 

He reached out uselessly. “Cyclonus--”

A new voice interrupted.

“The only place you’re going is back in a cell.” Rodimus tossed Ultra Magnus a pair of cuffs; he nearly dropped them. “Slap those back on him and get him out of here. You and I need to talk.”

It was as he was stiffly leading Cyclonus back to his cell, with the young Prime at his side, that he truly realized just how much of a mess he’d made of things. Rodimus was right, he  _ had _ let his judgment become clouded. And worse than that, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t  _ want _ to care. And as they neared the cell, he finally forced himself to admit was it was that he did want.

Cyclonus glared at him as he locked him away again. The jet’s optics were heavy with a dull, tired sort of anger. Ultra Magnus wanted to believe it was habitual, residual even, but he knew that wasn’t the case. Silently he removed the cuffs and turned to follow the Prime out.

Behind him, the horned mech sighed and slowly stepped away from the bars.

=========

“I know what you’re going to ask me, sir,” Magnus said when the door of Rodimus’s office closed behind them.

“Good, means I can move onto the next one. When did you realize you liked him?”

“I will--” His gaze snapped back up.  _ “What?” _

“Cyclonus.” Rodimus leaned back against his desk. “Unless there’s someone else I don’t know about who’s got you so torn up.”

“I don’t--  _ Cyclonus?” _

“Yeah. Why else do you think I let you take him out? Not really the most romantic of dates, ‘specially not with that many chaperones-- okay,  _ that _ was a joke, that wasn’t why I agreed to let him out.” He paused. “Hey, please tell me I’m not misreading this.”

It took him two tries to get the words out. “You think I have-- affections for Cyclonus.”

“That’s about the size of it, yeah. So. Do you?”

“I don’t dislike him.”

Rodimus sighed. “That’s not an answer, Magnus, and you know it. Does he know?”

“I have not let it interfere with my duties.”

“I watched you nearly get shot at least half a dozen times today trying to protect him,” he countered. “And that was just in the time I spent looking at you. I’d say it’s interfering.”

“I’ll turn those duties over to someone else--”

The young prime held up a hand. “I know. I can’t expect you to do that job like this. We--”

Footsteps rushed down the hall towards him and Kup burst in. “We got problems. Cyclonus is gone.”

Magnus whipped around, fear lancing through his spark like blaster fire. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean he’s gone! He’s not here! And we-- hang on.” He glanced away to take a private comm and sighed. “Well, shit,” he muttered succinctly.

Rodimus leaned forward. “What is it?”

“One of the shuttles is missing. We didn’t have a guard stationed at the hangar because we didn’t think we’d need it."

“And you think Cyclonus--”

Ultra Magnus interrupted him. “He’s heading back to Charr.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s what he said he’d do. I’ll go after him--”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Kup started, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Nobody needs to go after him. We can afford to lose the shuttle, and if you do manage to bring him back, he’ll just try to run off again!”

He turned back to Rodimus. “Please, I can reason with him. Galvatron isn’t stable-- if Cyclonus tries to explain, he’ll kill him.”

“And I say, let ‘em! We’ve got enough problems of our own without chasing after every stray Decepticon.”

“Enough, Kup.” Rodimus glanced up at Magnus. “You really think you can talk to him?”

He nodded.

The Prime considered it for a moment and dipped his helm. “Then go. But your safety comes first-- if it comes down to yours or his, I want you to leave him. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.” He strode out, leaving Kup staring at Rodimus in consternation.

“Now, why are you--”

“Long story,” the red mech muttered. “But hopefully it’ll have a good ending.”

=========

Cyclonus was easy to track; all Magnus had to do was lock onto the specific Autobot signature the shuttle put off and let the autopilot take over. Several times he attempted to make contact with the stolen craft, but each time the request was denied. Each time he pushed the engines a little harder, trying to get just a little more speed out of them.

And then he lost the signature. He’d known the signal would go offline when the main computer cut out, which could simply mean he’d landed on Charr, but he couldn’t help but worry the shuttle had been destroyed. He locked onto the ship’s last known coordinates and pressed on.

Once he got closer to the planet, he was able to scan for the shuttle itself and found it, discarded in the middle of Charr’s largest continent. He sagged against the console in relief, nearly deactivating the autopilot.

But a sweep around the area turned up no signs of life. He tried again, panic rising. No luck. He widened his range and tried a third time, finally picking up a cluster of signatures some distance away from the abandoned shuttle. He locked on and came in low, trying to remain unseen. 

When he disembarked, he could already hear distant yelling, carried on the breeze that stirred the ash around him. Magnus sped up and checked his blasters. By the time he cleared the ridge, he could hear the voices clearly.

“--And you have the  _ audacity _ to return?” Galvatron roared, kicking Cyclonus away from him. “You lie in bed with Autobots and expect a warm welcome when you come crawling back?” He rushed forward, hauling his former commander up by the neck and shaking him.  _ “Well?” _

Cyclonus clawed at his hand as his feet kicked ineffectually. “My lord-- I never--”

“Never what, never  _ betrayed me?” _ he howled, throwing the jet down once more. “You became a traitor the moment you chose to remain on Cybertron!”

“I was--”

“Galvatron!” Magnus bellowed.

The warlord’s shot went wide, slamming into the rock under the big mech’s feet, and he started to slip. He leaned into it, letting the momentum carry him down. He staggered, coming to a halt at Cyclonus’s side. 

“Come for your  _ pet?” _ he spat.

“No.” Magnus eyed him cooly. “For a friend.”

Galvatron laughed, deep and ugly, and the commander seized his chance. His shot struck the crazed leader squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Ultra Magnus glanced down just long enough to locate Cyclonus and lift him to his feet. 

“He’ll kill you for this,” the jet rasped. One of his optics flickered and faded.

“Not if we get out of here first,” he muttered. “Can you walk?”

“Better.” 

He pushed away from the big mech and fell forward into his alt mode, rushing away over the ridge. Magnus followed, trying to keep Galvatron off of them with limited success.

“Cyclonus!” he screamed above the blaster fire. “Head east, find the shuttle!”

The jet gave no indication he’d heard, but he veered east. When Magnus glanced up to track him, he felt warmth against his back. The shot dropped him to knees and a moment later the pain set in, white hot and chewing through his plating. He staggered up and pressed on.

He wasn’t sure just how he made it back to the shuttle, but he was aware of hands lifting him up and hauling him inside. He glanced up to find Cyclonus, neatly silhouetted against the warm glow of the shuttle’s thrusters. The jet dropped him into a seat and turned to the navigation console.

Magnus pushed himself forward. “Lay in a course back to Cybertron.”

“I know what to do,” Cyclonus shot back. His voice was still raspy, but his hands were swift over the controls. “Hold on.”

The big mech braced himself. They could still hear the sharp whining of blaster fire outside, and it was getting closer.

“What are you waiting for? Go!”

Cyclonus abruptly gunned the ship’s engines, washing the area around the shuttle with what Magnus knew was nearly intolerable heat. It forced the Decepticons back, leaving them clear to escape. 

The jet didn’t speak until they’d cleared Charr’s gravitational field, at which point he rounded on Ultra Magnus. “Why did you come after me? What do you stand to gain from cutting me off from them?”

“You were making a mistake--”

“It has no bearing over you!” he hissed. “So why do it?”

“Because I--” He hesitated.

“Well?”

“Because I  _ care  _ about you, Cyclonus!” Magnus burst out.

Cyclonus fell back, flickering optics betraying his surprise. “What?” he rasped.

“I care about you,” he repeated quietly. “Against my better judgment. I… didn’t realize until recently. I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

The jet was silent for a long moment. When he finally glanced back up, it was with optics tinged with fear and concern. “You do realize you have made a permanent enemy of Galvatron.”

“So have you, it seems. If I have, I’m in… good company.”

Almost unconsciously, he drifted a little closer. “Is that so.”

He turned to stare out the front of the shuttle. A small overlay in the corner of the viewscreen tracked their progress back to Cybertron. His shoulders slumped as he sagged back against Magnus’s seat, propping himself up against it.

Magnus tipped his head back to look at him. “So… will you consider staying this time?”

Cyclonus glanced over at him, and when the light caught his face, it almost looked like he was smiling. “I will.”


End file.
